


Glowing Embers

by sapphickass



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Fantasizing, Masturbation, Pining, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28843845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphickass/pseuds/sapphickass
Summary: Randvi knows she shouldn't, but it's all too easy to let her mind wander when she's alone in Sigurd's bed and Eivor's on her way home.-Takes place sometime soon after establishing Ravensthorpe, because that's where I currently am in the game. No spoilers please.
Relationships: Eivor/Randvi (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 114





	Glowing Embers

Despite the fact that Randvi deals solely with people and their alliances, most of the time she finds herself achingly alone. Sigurd, Eivor, and their warriors are off in distant lands, forging alliances and meeting with the people she’d informed them of. Her scouts are no better, always, well, scouting in new places and meeting new people. There are a few dogs that hang out around the longhouse, begging for meat and scraps, but even they return home at the day’s end. 

Randvi takes no comfort in spending time with the drunken stragglers who linger in the longhouse, often returning to her room there - Sigurd’s room, really - alone. And while she’s satisfied with her position and her successes, she feels lacking. 

Sigurd’s bed feels empty without him, and yet when he’s home, feels too full. Overwhelmed with his stinking breath, his hairy limbs that sprawl where they wish - most often onto her - and the pressure that there should be something more. She knows arranged marriages often take time, though of course some sour too quick too fast, leaving both partners with a bad taste in their mouths. 

Sigurd should be everything she wants - he’s a strong warrior, muscular with a firm sense of will and duty. He respects her in ways that matter,  _ truly _ respects her and her intelligence. 

So why then, are Randvi’s eyes ever straying from Sigurd to his sister? When Sigurd’s longship arrives, she has always smiled and been relieved; when Eivor’s longship arrives, bringing with it her boisterous crew and greeting shouts of, “Eivor’s back!” “Hej, Wolf-Kissed!” ringing through the paths of Ravensthorpe, Randvi finds a deep ache in her chest ease. The kind of ache that’s tied up with the worry that the previous time Eivor sailed away would be the last time Randvi saw her. 

Now, it’s deep into autumn and Sigurd and Eivor would be returning soon to rest the winter months at home. Randvi finishes preparing the documents from her scouts, updates her log, and drops a letter into Eivor’s box. The longhouse is almost empty as she passes through it to get to her private chambers, and she waves casually at the few left sitting at the tables, surrounded with a haze of smoke. 

She’s preoccupied with thoughts of both Eivor and Sigurd’s return as she undresses.. It’s getting harder and harder to ignore her feelings when they’re around, particularly when they’re around together. Sigurd could look at her with all the honor and respect in the world, and she would break his gaze to glance at Eivor, who most likely didn’t even know she was being watched. 

The nights bring their own problems. Usually Randvi tries to tire herself house before crawling under the thick furs and blankets, using her exhaustion as a shield against thoughts that inevitably come up when she’s alone in bed with only her thoughts to guide her hand.

She’s heard word from a scout that Eivor’s ship is due to arrive earlier than expected - three days before Sigurd’s. Thoughts of her return float through Randvi’s mind as she goes around the room extinguishing candles, her feet cold against the worn rug beneath her feet. 

It’s easier to think in the dark, out of sight of any prying eyes, a closed door between her and the rest of the clan. She crawls into bed, thinking of the first sight of Evior’s ship. She’d see the shape of her first, her broad shoulders beneath a thick fur as she perches to guide the rowers. 

Eivor would jump onto the docks and stride forward, giving orders as she went. Randvi would hang back at first, not wanting to appear as eager as she was. 

“Randvi,” Eivor would say in her low voice. Not an eloquent greeting, but one that spoke volumes in the warmth of her slight smile and the depth to her gaze.

Slipping beneath the covers, Randvi wraps herself tightly in the furs, but it’s a sorry replacement for what she knows Eivor’s embrace would feel like. 

Distant sounds come from the hall, a raucous laugh followed by the sound of a tankard slamming on the table. 

The celebrations for Eivor’s return will be jovial, full of tales of their travels and heavy pourings of mead as the clan gathers in the night. Again, Randvi will be enthusiastic, but keep her distance at the back of the group gathered around Eivor and her warriors. Even as she will flit from table to table, she’ll always listen for Eivor’s voice - distinct amongst the crowd. Somehow, even over the sounds of feasting, dancing, and drinking, Randvi could always pick out the low rumble of Eivor’s voice. 

Either with or against her better judgement, Randvi will retire earlier than most. She rubs her arms at the thought, trying to warm herself with little success. Sometimes the imagining of the definite future was enough to satisfy her and she could drift to sleep with a smile on her lips knowing Eivor - and, she forces herself to admit, Sigurd - will be home safe again. 

And other times, well, she reassures herself that her mind is hers alone. No one will ever have to know. 

Shivering, Randvi settles her head against the pillow and pulls the furs up to her chin, the soft fur tickling her cheek. She stares at the thin line of candlelight coming from under the door, as she always does when she’s the earliest to retire, as she will inevitably be on the night of Eivor’s return. 

She shouldn’t, but… She lets her hands drift over her stomach, over the tops of her thighs.

It’s cold, and she knows the best way to warm herself. 

Closing her eyes, she lets out a deep breath and crosses the firm line into fantasy. 

-

It begins like this, with Randvi already in bed. The door opens just wide enough for a figure to slip into the darkness from the main hall. Eivor, a little tipsy and free of her weapons and armor. 

“Randvi,” she murmurs, though no words are necessary. They both understand that they can’t keep pretending and  _ this _ is the moment they’ll divulge to no one else.

“Eivor,” Randvi says, no more than a whisper. “I missed you.”

_ Her heart is beating faster now, but she doesn’t let her hands stray from her thighs or stomach. _

“I hope you haven’t gotten into trouble without me,” Eivor says, striding towards the bed with a purpose in her step.

“You get into enough trouble for the both of us,” Randvi says as she sits up. Just as Eivor reaches the edge of the bed, Randvi pulls her down, drawing her into a deep, open mouthed kiss. 

Eivor’s weight is a comfort over her as they sink into the bed, tongues meeting in long strokes. Randvi delves her fingers into the hair at the base of Eivor’s neck, her fingertips catching on the burn scar behind her ear. She tastes honeyed from the mead, and she smells of woodfire and leather. On Sigurd, the sensory combination is one that fills her with empty dread. On Eivor, it ignites a forge low in her belly and makes her want to bury her face in Eivor’s tunic to breathe her in. 

There’s no hesitation in Eivor’s strong hands as she pushes aside the furs and slips her legs under them. She works her fingers under Randvi’s nightshirt, tugging it up and pulling her closer with an arm around her lower back. 

Randvi feels her way along Eivor’s shoulders, reveling in the tense set of her muscles. Scars dip under her fingers, a testament to everything Eivor has survived to reach this moment. 

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Randvi says between kisses, “About this.” She lowers her voice when a burst of noise comes from the hall, and she’s reminded of how close they are to being discovered. 

Eivor doesn’t have to look up to pick up on her nerves. When she kisses a line down Randvi’s jaw, her braid swishes against Randvi’s shoulder. “Are you going to be able to be quiet?” 

Randvi swallows hard. “I was going to ask the same of you.” 

This time, Eivor looks up. When she speaks, her lips brush Randvi’s bare collar bone. “ _ I’ll _ be too occupied to speak.” Her hand moves up, cupping Randvi’s breast. 

_ When Randvi touches her own breast, she lets out a little breath of relief, pinching lightly at her nipples. _

Eivor is true to her word. Her lips trace patterns over Randvi’s shoulders and neck, nipping at her skin as her coarse fingers grasp her breast under her nightshirt. Her movements are sure of themselves, knowing exactly what Randvi needs and where. 

Randvi’s grip tightens around her shoulders as Eivor slips a thigh between her own. She’s wearing a pair of loose trousers with ties around her waist, but Randvi has nothing on beneath the long shirt she sleeps in. When Eivor plucks at her nipple - hard this time - Randvi lets out the smallest noise in her exhale. 

Pressing her thigh harder into Randvi’s center, Eivor says, “Are you ready for me?” 

_ Randvi leaves one hand at her breast, sliding the other down to the curls between her legs.  _

In answer, Randvi takes Eivor’s hand and moves it down her body, guiding it to the place she wants to be touched most. 

When Eivor’s fingertips touch the slick folds between her legs, she lifts her head to smirk. “Are you this wet for Sigurd too?” 

_ Randvi pauses, the fantasy at risk of rupturing. No, no, Sigurd isn’t supposed to even be here. She shakes her head, and it’s all too easy to slip back into her imagination even though she knows the truth of the question.  _

Eivor draws down the neckline of Randvi’s nightshirt with her free hand and closes her teeth around her nipple as she strokes through her center to find her clit. She grinds down against Randvi’s leg, drawing her own pleasure from the way Randvi’s hips tilt up to meet her hand. 

The knowledge that someone could walk in any minute only makes Randvi that much more desperate. Eivor makes steady circles around Randvi’s clit - not quite teasing, just taking her slow, sweet time. 

_ Randvi’s cheeks are flushed as she touches herself, her breaths coming faster and faster as she attempts to control herself.  _

Eivor works her way up Randvi’s neck with bites that are almost too hard until she reaches her parted lips. “Is this what you wanted?” she says, her words only a whisper of breath between them. “When you were thinking of me?” 

“Yes, I couldn’t help myself.” She arches into Eivor’s expert touch. Moving her lips to the shaved side of her head next to the raven tattoo, she murmurs, “I want to feel you inside me.”

Without hesitation, Eivor slides her fingers down, pressing one into her. On the next stroke, she adds a second and uses her thumb to press over her clit. 

_ The angle isn’t right, isn’t what it should be, but Randvi slides two fingers into herself while her opposite hand works her clit in tight circles. She’s impossibly wet and each thought makes the ache in her grow. _

Eivor kisses her again, hard and deep. It’s all Randvi can do to hold onto her, pleasure radiating from her middle at the overwhelming sensation of Eivor’s hands touching her in their own self-assured way. With the confidence of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing, Eivor withdraws her fingers just enough to rub fast, tight circles over her clit. 

Her breath is coming quicker against Randvi’s cheek, and she nips at her lips in something more intense than merely playful, as if she’s goading Randvi into feeling more and more and more. 

“Please,” Randvi manages to get out, so close -  _ so fucking close _ .

_ She’s almost… just needs…. _

Eivor’s calloused fingertips change the angle just slightly, rubbing fast and hard, and it’s just enough to push Randvi over the edge. Her breath catches in her throat, a sound stuck somewhere beyond words as she comes, urged on by Eivor’s touch as she slips two fingers into her to feel her come. 

_ She shatters, arching up off the bed with tense muscles.  _

Randvi draws her into a kiss, her face flushed with tendrils of hair sticking to her forehead. But Eivor breaks away, rising off of her just enough to sink down the bed, removing the furs as she goes. Randvi’s nightshirt is pushed up around her stomach, baring the rest of herself as Eivor crawls down, settling on her stomach between her legs.

“I’ve wanted to taste you for so long, Randvi.”

She’s still shaking from the first orgasm when Eivor nuzzles her inner thigh, stroking the soft skin of her hip. Without waiting for a response, she parts her folds with two fingers and leans in, licking through her in one stroke.

_ Randvi’s fingers move slowly now, recovering and already feeling the swell of a second orgasm. _

Eivor’s tongue is relentless against her clit, alternating between light flicks and hard, flat strokes. She presses Randvi’s hips open with her free hand, holding her in place to work her clit even when Randvi tries to arch up against her in search of more. 

When she looks down, she finds Eivor’s gaze boring into hers. The view is so intoxicating, so full of unspoken desire that Randvi can’t look away. And so the second time she falls over the edge, it’s with Eivor’s tongue against her clit and her pale eyes meeting her own. 

_ Randvi comes again, and a gush of liquid floods past her fingers, soaking the mattress beneath her. _

-

The fantasy fizzles away as Randvi’s confronted with what just happened. She draws her fingers away from herself, and pushes back the furs. Her thighs are slick and she feels like she’s floating somewhere far outside her body. 

She’d heard of such things happening, but had always excused them as the wishful thinkinking of men fantasizing about things they did not know of. Touching herself, just to be sure, she finds herself thinking how curious it is, that such a thing could only happen because a man wasn’t involved. 

A glance to the door reveals blackness underneath - an empty hall. She’s at last alone in the longhouse, but she’s not sure that makes her feel better or worse. 

With a feeling bordering between satiated and utterly empty, Randvi cleans herself up with a cloth and does her best to dry the bed, but it’s not much use. As she settles down again, tucking herself into the warmth of her furs, she lets out a long, deep breath. 

-

A few days later when Eivor’s longship appears at the Ravensthorpe dock, Randvi joins the crowd heading to meet them. Eivor’s gaze lands on her in the crowd, and although the sight of her icy blue eyes makes Randvi flush, she does not look away.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I don't post much anymore, but you can find me on tumblr [here](https://sapphickass.tumblr.com/)! I have a few other ideas for Eivor/Randvi fic but I'm pretty busy right now so who knows.


End file.
